A Hearse and Reptile Show Was Also the Best Party I’ve Ever Been to at a Funeral Home

Over the weekend, a hearse and reptile show took place at a funeral home in Azusa, a town in Los Angeles County. Yes, you read that correctly: at long last, hearses and reptiles both being displayed at a funeral home. The whole thing seemed too weird to not attend, so I did.

People get freaked out by death for obvious reasons. When I was a kid, I would lie awake at night about once a week, considering the fact that one day, I would cease to exist. My fear of death was all-consuming. The night before my tenth birthday, I cried to my parents, the realization that I was making a tangible step towards what, even as a child, I perceived as the utter blankness of nonexistence. My parents listened, and in that loving parent-y way, told me to chill the fuck out: death was inevitable, and me cryin' about it wasn't helping.

I say that to say this: I totally get why people are into death. It's certainly the inverse of how I feel about it, but people's fascination with death and my anxiety about it come from the same essential place. Death is an unknown quantity; no one has been able to experience it and come back and tell us what it's like. It might be awesome, or it might be insanely shitty, or it might be nothing. Who knows!

As I blasted Danzig out of my Toyota Prius on the drive over to White's Funeral Home, where the event was set to take place, I was totally unaware of what I was getting myself into.

What I stumbled onto was one of the most charming events I've ever been to.

In addition to featuring an impressive collection of customized hearses and a room full of rare, impressive reptiles, the Hearse and Reptile Show strove to be a true community event. It featured a grip of booths and vendors, from macabre crafts to haunted cupcakes to the community's LGBT group. There was even an area for children called the "Kids' Coroner" that featured face-painting.

White's Funeral Home, which hosted the event, doesn't necessarily do things the same way as their big box competitors. "When people are dying," White's Funeral Home director Manny Godoy told me, "they don't want a ritual in a sad room. They want a celebration of their life. We're trying to bring people to White's for a good time and to get people out of their fears about death." Manny's a short-ish, friendly guy who looks like he's just crested the hill of 40. While we were speaking, members of the community kept approaching him to congratulate him on the turnout, which from the looks of it was well in the hundreds—not bad for an offbeat event in a small community. While he talked to well-wishers, I socialized with Manny's dog, named Lola the Bereavement Pug. (Adorable and friendly, Lola the Bereavement Pug licked my face within seconds of meeting me.)

As the sun began to set, a band called Rhythm Coffin took a stage and began playing a brand of music they called "Monster Rock." Think kitschy, zany rock from the pre-hippie era, with lyrics ripped from campy horror movies (sample chorus: "Put the FUN in FUNERAL," repeated like ten times).

I was looking forward to Rhythm Coffin's set—before they'd gone on, a guy interrupted showing me his hearse full of old toys to tell one of his fellow hearse owners that the band was one of his favorites.

The hearse and reptile show was, more than anything, a community event, offering the people of Azusa the opportunity to unite under goofy and fun circumstances. When I asked Manny what his favorite part of the Hearse and Reptile Show was, he told me, "I love the diversity. This is usually a very traditional hispanic community. You've got zombies having a good time, drag nuns having a good time, a bunch of old men that run charities are having a good time, and they're having it all together."

Death is the one thing that unites us all. We might as well reap that benefit while we're alive, too.

See more photos from the event below.

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